MoM Masquerade
by Mione21
Summary: What happens when you get Hermione and Lucius dressed as two literary characters? Panic, pursuit, and a cloak closet, of course!


_I wrote this, my first LuMione fanfic for a very special friend, Savva. She's Gryffindor all the way, a true friend and fighter. Savva, you are a real-life Hermione: Brilliant, courageous, and wonderful. ;) Enjoy (and for all you readers out there, check out her stories…you'll be glad you did)!_

_And for the record, I do not own these characters, since JKR has sole propriety. I've decided to borrow them for my own wicked fun. This is AU all the way...but oh, so much fun!_

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MoM Masquerade

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It was all her fault, really.

She had dreamed this day to reality.

With all of Hermione's ideas, meetings, dictating how things should be run, she now realized that she had no one…NO ONE to blame but herself.

When she was asked at one of those damned Ministry meetings what Muggles would do for a formal-yet-fun event, she suggested a costume party.

No.

She suggested, specifically, "A themed masquerade ball". Now, in the cloakroom, hyperventilating between two formal outer robes was Hermione Granger, in a gingham dress and ruby red slippers.

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His eyes spotted those red shoes the moment the lights hit them. They were very high…higher than he ever seen a witch wear before. In truth, Those shoes were higher than he had seen on any woman before, and that daring color….

"Oh, the woman in those shoes MUST know how things should be done." Lucius leaned against the thick marble column, taking in the subtle signs that he wasn't the only man in the room to be enticed by the rear view of this witch.

Truly, she was a walking a contradiction. Innocence and eroticism tied up tighter than the two braids of her auburn hair.

She was a sensual gift from the gods in the perfect packaging deposited right here in this very room.

Those shoes with heels as thin as the breadth of a quill, those sculpted legs, with calf muscles delicately flexing with every move. The hemline of that dress flared out with ruffles that inched it that/much higher to her feminine assets.

Unbeknownst to Lucius, the woman that made him twist his charmed mustache was none other than the thorn in his side, the Undersecretary of Magical Reform. At this particular moment, however, the unknown woman was just a purely decadent, human equivalent of a very fine cherry liqueur. He wanted to savor every mouthful of her.

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Hermione couldn't help it. She felt it on her neck; the heat and prickle of someone watching her. It was faint at first, but moments passed as she tried to ignore it, until it became unbearable.

At first, she second-guessed herself and shrugged off the feeling. But those few seconds made the feeling spread over the entire backside of her body, demanding to be acknowledged. The back of her legs tingled as much of every other exposed section of her flesh.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder to the source, only to see him; The Secretary to Wizarding Rights. His eyes roving over her body like…she couldn't tell…she had never, ever felt this kind of scrutiny, and couldn't even begin to fathom what it meant.

She just knew that as he stood there-charmed to the nines with long, black ringlets, mustache and goatee, ornate in blood red costume, the tightest britches, and a tricorn hat with black plume—the stuff of her dreams and nightmares had just come alive.

His surprise mimicked hers upon recognition, and he tugged just a little too hard on his mustache with his thick and sharpened hook. She didn't notice his reaction, however, as she stiffened, faced back away from him, and walked briskly to the cloakroom.

Lucius almost left the incident alone.

Almost.

But it was then at that deciding moment when he saw her eye through the quickly closing door, peering out at him. The white of her eye shone, and any good pirate knows when to fire at will. He quickly pushed himself from the column and sauntered slowly toward plundering his next treasure.

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Before her eyes, the the fabric in front of her seemed to blur as she fought for breath, berating herself for the current situation. Ticking off her mistakes out loud, she mumbled like some St. Mungos psych ward patient.

"What fodder I've given him-Dressing like some muggle prat who 'innocently' kills evil witches with her house."

"Of course, I'd choose some child character to completely undermine my own authority. I've just showcased for everyone out there…especially HIM…of just how young and ill-prepared I am for politics!"

"You fool. No one will ever take you seriously after parading around in this outfit, and no one will remember a thing I've said, but the only things they'll remember are these stupid shoes!"

Kicking the wall, she cursed the anti-Apparition wards once again. Wincing at the thought as well as her throbbing toe, she wanted nothing more than to click the heels together and wish herself to her childhood home.

Then Hermione took a long, deep, steadying breath and straightened her appearance using the full-length mirror on the cloakroom's door. Shaking the negative thoughts away she appraised herself and the situation.

She steeled herself as she squared her jaw in true Gryffindor fashion.

She was a powerful witch. She fought her way to gain her current position. So far, everyone she spoke with was erudite, and the conversations up until the moment she made her escape were useful and important for upcoming dealings at the Ministry.

If she were to leave the room now or shrink into the shadows, it would be noticed.

She was going to stay.

She was going to stand straight and tall, and keep her shoulders back until she actually felt as confident as her pose suggested.

Then she would leave and wait to see if there would be any fallout.

"If anyone fucks with me, I'll stab them with my stilettos until they apologize." And with that statement, she pulled the door wide open only to find Lucius Malfoy leaning against the door jamb, admiring his very manly hook.

Lucius couldn't help but notice the flush of her cheeks spread rampantly down toward her very modest neckline. He also couldn't contain his smirk.

"Are you in distress, Miss Granger?" Lucius curled his mustache once again, playing coy.

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As he turned to face her fully, she was painfully aware how he had changed physically after the war. She first knew him as lanky aristocrat-all soft but with very long lines. Soon after, he transformed into a haggard, downtrodden man during Voldemort's seizure of his home.

After the war, however, she watched as he shape-shifted into not only one of the most powerful, charismatic diplomats in the Ministry, changed his persona completely, but he was also able to morph his body as well during his, for lack of better term, reconstruction.

The man before her was formidable. Honed into a very sharp weapon, she saw his muscles tight and ready. She knew he had put many hours, days, months, over the years into rebuilding his body to that stood before her. He was now a chiseled athlete. He was angular; his chest broader, his jaw slightly wider.

His costume showcased his body in a way that demanded respect from the other men but intense scrutiny from every woman in the room, each one of them weighing their desire with the dangers surely enveloping this man.

It made her knees want to buckle with the thought of what he must look like when the costume came off.

"If you would excuse me, Mr. Malfoy." Hermione gave her best attempt to growl. She made a move to her right and toward him, assuming that he would allow her passage, but when she did, he moved into that same gap.

The force she exerted pushing into his solid mass made her own body bounce backward, stumbling and hands raising in the very beginning of a full-on flail.

His free hand shot toward her. With the gracefulness of a dance move, he spun with her, slamming the door shut as he twirled with her until they stopped, completely and unbelievably upright.

She felt the rounded hilt of his hook at her spine and she wondered if she was in line to hurt herself on the point of it should she try to break away.

Her hands pushed at his chest, but as she did so, she felt his arm around her tighten. This time, his free hand reached up to her braid, pulling it from between them. She watched his eyes as they peered at her costume.

"I couldn't help but overhear your intentions from the other side of the door. Does this constitute 'fucking with you'? If that is the case, it isn't nearly the connotation I was hoping for…." Lucius' comment was cut all too short by the huff and shove by the little upshot-turned-vixen before him.

"Tsk, tsk…Miss Granger, please do calm down. I was merely trying to lighten the situation. Once again, I ask you. Are. You. Alright?" He gently released her and allowed her to step back.

Hermione felt the temperature change down the entire front length of her body when he released her. The chill of the closet made her whole body shiver, from the bereavement of his body heat.

"I am quite fine, Mister Malfoy. Now if you'll excuse me!" This time, Hermione made no attempt to move, knowing that if she were to brush past him, the exact move might be reenacted. She waited for him to remove himself.

"Why did you run?" The dark, sinister Captain Hook character before her captivated Hermione just as much as his fair, real counterpart. At lightening speeds, she computed and analyzed whether his new look would have been better suited to him in the old days…an outward manifestation of the inner depravity…or if it better suited him now—menacing and dangerous-in this very cloak room.

She registered the audible click of the cloak room door which directly corresponded with the upturn of his grin.

_Oh gods. A pirate. THE pirate. The consummate, ideal dream-man who has just locked the door with wandless magic._ Hermione flushed crimson at the thought. _A very bad man looking for booty. _

She squeeked as he cleared his throat, rousing her from her inner-commentary.

He took a step toward her, and her hand shot out at him, keeping him at arms' length—Actually, arms' length AND one prodding pointer-finger to his sternum. "Why did you follow me?"

"A question to a question? I see we shall be in this cloakroom for a long while."

She poked again, refusing to say another word, waiting to hear what he had to say.

His eyes followed where there bodies touched—the pad of her finger, and his gaze moved like fire up her bare arm, to her pouffed sleeve, to her bare neck and to her lips. He also remained silent but he finally raised his gaze to her eyes, and never wavered once as they hit the mark. "Because I wanted to do what no other man in that room was 'man enough' to do."

"What? Ridicule me? Mock my poor choice in costumery? Make direct correlation to the doe-eyed innocence and unpreparedness of my choice of literary character choices? Believe you me, I've already cornered the market on that!" Hermione couldn't help herself but to make one more stab with her extended finger to hammer home her literal as well as figurative point.

A wave of confusion crossed his features, but he quickly schooled it.

"Ah. So wrong you are. Well then, since you are well-" He turned toward the click of the unlocking door as he made to leave.

The roller-coaster of emotion in this confined space was taking its toll on Hermione, and her ire just pushed fear and embarrassment out of the way in order to come to the fore. "Just what do you mean, Mister Malfoy, when you say that I am 'wrong'? Please! You just couldn't **wait** to be the first to tell me what grand mistakes I've made this evening!"

The harsh incrimination that hissed forth from her mouth made him stop, his hand hovering over the doorknob.

He never took persecution too well, and she was completely wrong in her assessment of him.

"No, Miss Granger. I came in here because, like my character," He stepped toward her, "I know when to pursue a worthy treasure." He spun slowly toward her again.

The next two steps made Hermione retreat. "The roguishness of my character made me want to kneel before you on that boring dance floor and lift those frilly skirts in order to see your most exquisite charms." He continued, "Better yet, I followed you into this cloak room with the hopes of bending you over before me, as I took in the beauty of those shoes, those legs, and ultimately your completely exposed-" Somehow he had backed her up against the empty wall between rows of robes, "womanhood before plundering your treasures."

She gasped. In the heat and rush of his words, she had forgotten that they were here.

In a real cloak closet.

At a work function.

And his body was flush against hers.

And her knickers were soaked and her body was so ready!

She realized now that she needed to gain control of the situation in order to make it out without making a fool of herself. "If that's the case, Lucius, then kneel before me." It seemed like such a strange utterance, but she said it anyway.

It shocked them both for it to come out, but it was now out of her mouth and in the confined space of the room.

Hermione tilted her head upward, but noticed his adam's apple bob in this throat before he quickly plummeted to his knees.

His breath was heaving, and he couldn't shake off his hook fast enough.

As it clattered to the floor, it transfigured back into his wand…something she would have never thought he would do in her presence. The fact that he disarmed himself was, Hermione admitted to herself, literally disarming in the highest degree.

His hand tugged hers to his lips. Not in his wildest dreams did he ever think he would be here…at this witch's feet…yet here he was, the toes of her ruby pumps disappearing between his knees—she was so close to him.

Lucius was at a loss at what to do now, the reality of this moment being so much more fragile than the raunchy, rowdy debauchery he had envisioned in his daydreaming between that column and now.

He flipped her hand gently in his, and placed a kiss in the palm of her hand.

"Please do not toy with me, woman." He gazed up from his place at her feet.

He was painfully aware of her excitement, her chest quickly rising and falling in time with the throb of his own heart…with the ache deep inside of him hammering to pounce on her.

"I am sorry, Mister Malfoy," Hermione whispered, "but you've never before shown any other regard toward me other than animosity. How would you take this sudden change of heart, so to speak?"

"Animosity? No. Provided you with opposition, perhaps. You intrigue me daily. Infuriate me hourly. Instigate such passions in me, work-wise and even in my personal life you've infiltrated my thoughts. No other woman has had the ability to rub me the way you do."

Hermione's breath hitched every time he annunciated 'in' and her body shuddered at the word 'rub'. She was riveted in place as he continued. "And I would have continued in our tit-for-tat, so to speak, until you finally delt the final blow."

It was the click of the lock that made him stiffen this time. She had added some wards so quickly, he almost missed them. "And what do you mean by that?" She asked quietly.

"You finally drove me to lose control. This-" The pad of his middle finger skimmed the back of her leg, "costume…You've made me come undone." The ghost of his touch stopped at the back of her knee before he removed his hand from her.

"You've won. Miss Granger, I admit defeat as long as you take me prisoner."

She tore herself from her desire to make this moment into something out of her fantasies, but stopped just in the nick of time.

"Get up." She finally managed to speak. It was the voice of business.

Lucius stared at her, at a loss as to whether her request bode well or ill.

He drew himself slowly to his feet, his costume catching and dragging against hers, the rustle drawing the attention of them both, and was the only sound in the room.

Their eyes locked as he rose, towering above her. She breathed in through her nose, intoxicating her with his heated scent. Masculine. Aroused and sweating. His cologne just hinting at a richness she fought to decipher.

Ah, Captain Black pipe tobacco and spices that made her mouth water.

"What makes you think I want any part of this game you are playing, Mister Malfoy?" Hermione tried so very hard to use her words as pointedly as a rapier.

It was instantaneous, his ego and intuition working in tandem to feed him his reply, "The fact that you haven't used the Killing Curse on me or hexed me to the high heavens, Miss Granger makes me think so."

As she opened her mouth to protest, Lucius caught her up and pressed her firmly to the wall. His lips were soft against hers as he spoke, "And the fact that you just hitched your legs around my hips seals this assumption.

And Hermione realized that she did. She released a little mew as her body seized her in full mutiny, her back pressing hard into the wall as her hips ground into his hardness. She felt the desperate ache to have him as her core tingled and throbbed.

Lucius' response was to shove back, increasing the pressure and friction in that very spot.

He almost smiled until she spoke, breaking their slow, thorough kiss, "Stop."

Hermione dropped one ruby encased foot to the floor, then the other.

Lucius pushed away from her, his arms on either side of her shoulders, leaving a gap between them. His breath disturbing the curls that freed themselves from her braids during their embrace.

His eyes darkened with arousal searched her face while his brain fought his body to comply.

"If this is going to happen, it is not going to happen here." Hermione ground out; her voice taking on a breathless tinge.

He groaned and his hips bucked forward as he felt her hand smooth over his over-sensitized member. She stroked harder in order to prove she was not thwarting the activity, only the location.

"Say your goodbyes, Lucius, and meet me at the front door." Hermione watched his nostrils flare and lips part in anticipation, realizing that this man was completely at her disposal, "I'll be Apparating us to my home. I think it is time for us to discuss the terms of your surrender."

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End file.
